


Magnolia Lane

by Eienvine



Series: Magnolia Lane [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Peggysous Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy has fought the Nazis and Hydra, grappled with Russian agents attempting to destroy New York, and prevented Los Angeles from being sucked into an interdimensional rift. But nothing she's done has prepared her for her next challenge: bridge night with the new neighbors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnolia Lane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the100vaticancameos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the100vaticancameos/gifts).



> A gift for the100vaticancameos (hero-monty.tumblr.com) for the Peggysous exchange!
> 
> Her prompt: I'd love to see something where they're playing a game, like a board game, a roadtrip game, a sports game, or any type of game.

. . . . . .

_1949, Sycamore Hills, California_

. . . . . .

"Is it too late to back out?"

Daniel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you want to?"

Peggy hesitated. Her statement had been half in jest, and yet . . .

He saw her hesitation and grinned. "Has the great Peggy Carter finally met her match? _The_ Peggy Carter, who defeated Hydra? Saved New York from Dr. Fenhoff? Stopped LA from being swallowed up by Zero Matter?"

"Those were entirely different situations and you know it," she said primly. "Those were important."

"This is important," he reminded her. "Besides, wasn't coming to this area your idea in the first place? And now that we're here, if we want to keep suspicion off us, and what we really do at work . . ."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "But this sort of situation is not really my forte."

"You can say that again."

She ignored him. "I'm very good undercover; I can make people believe any lie I need them to. I'm not quite as good at making people like me when I'm being myself."

Daniel laughed aloud at that. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that," he grinned. "I remember the disaster when you first met my sisters. But Peg, you can do this. We need to mingle with the locals, and I know that you always pull through when the stakes are high." He hesitated, then smiled again. "And if it's any consolation, you look gorgeous."

"I certainly hope so," she retorted, glancing in the mirror at her new navy blue dress, cut in the style of the new fashions coming from Paris—nipped-in waist, full skirt falling to mid-calf. "The waist on this dress! I can hardly breathe."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, so that in the mirror she could see his face next to hers, and her stubbornness melted away. The truth was that she'd do anything for him, though there was no sense reminding him of that just now; she didn't want him to get cocky. "I've never known Peggy Carter to back down from a challenge."

"Peggy Sousa, when she's at home," she reminded him in the moment before she turned to kiss him, still thrilling, four weeks after the wedding, at the sound of her married name (she didn't use it professionally, but somehow that only made her love it more; it was precious, something for her and Daniel to share in the privacy of their own home). He responded enthusiastically, and she was just thinking that this seemed a vastly preferable alternative to their current plans for the evening when he pulled away.

"I know this isn't how either of us would choose to spend an evening," he said, "but we might be in this house for years. You have to see it's a tactical advantage to get in good with the neighbors."

Oh, he knew just what to say to persuade her. "Tactical advantage" indeed; only her Daniel would think to put it in those terms, knowing that she couldn't resist that idea. "But a whole evening playing bridge with strangers!" she groaned. "Daniel, it sounds so dull."

"But just think," he said, fetching her handbag from its place by the door, "if we don't go, Rose will have spent all that time teaching us bridge for no reason, and you know what she'll be like if she finds out we didn't go." He kissed her again quickly, and then grinned. "Besides, I'm just wild to try Mrs. Johnson's famous tomato soup cake." He held out his arm. "You don't want the Johnsons to think we're bad neighbors, do you?"

Peggy sighed. Daniel was right, of course; he had a habit of being right when she didn't want him to be. "No, I suppose I don't." She fixed her lipstick, mussed from the kiss, then led Daniel to the kitchen to fetch the tray of deviled eggs. She carried the tray, having long since learned that if she wanted to hold Daniel's hand, she'd have to do all the carrying, as he'd need his free hand for his crutch. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make. "But I am warning you, husband mine, if this tomato soup cake doesn't live up to Mrs. Johnson's endless bragging, I am never attending one of her bridge nights again."

"We'll tell everyone you developed an allergy to cards," he agreed, and with one last check over their house, the Sousas were on their way down the street to an evening with the Johnsons.

The newly acquired Sousa home was located at 793 Magnolia Lane, one in a row of identical houses on what was one in a grid of identical streets, all making up the planned community of Sycamore Hills—one of the first of its kind in the nation, and old Mr. Sousa had proudly clipped an article all about this new housing trend of the future out of _Time_ magazine and mailed it to his son and daughter-in-law. Peggy, though immensely fond of the old man, did not share his enthusiasm for tract housing; Daniel felt about the same. But they wanted something close to work that they could afford on SSR salaries, and they wanted a yard and neighbors for when children came, whenever that might be. Besides, Sycamore Hills matched their cover story of being a salesman and his secretary wife. It was just the sort of place where Daniel Sousa, paper distributor, might live.

As they walked hand in hand down the street past the identical houses, Daniel, as though reading Peggy's thoughts, asked, "Do you ever worry you're going to forget which house is ours and walk in on a neighbor?"

"I still sometimes can only find ours by checking the house number," Peggy confessed, then hesitated as she noticed Daniel smiling shyly. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "I just still get excited about being able say 'our house.' If you'd told me when I started at the SSR that someday I'd be buying a house with the amazing woman who sat at the desk next to mine . . ." He hesitated, and his good mood dimmed a little. "Or if you'd told me in the field hospital that I'd ever marry at all . . ." He shrugged again, visibly casting off his sudden pensiveness. "Let's just say, some mornings I gotta pinch myself to be sure I'm really here and not just dreaming this all."

"Daniel Antonio Sousa," replied his wife after a moment of examining his bashful grin, "I'd kiss you senseless if it wouldn't muss my lipstick."

"So you'd kiss me senseless if we weren't going to this party?" He sighed. "Then maybe coming is a bad idea after all."

"Too late," she said.

The Johnson home looked exactly like the Sousa home, save for the 687 on the mailbox. The lawn was absolutely pristine, though, and the flowers outside perfectly kept; the Sousas had no time or patience for yard work, and Peggy had every intention and asking around to find some enterprising neighbor boy who needed to earn money for his church group or college fund and hiring him to do the work. She hadn't gotten around to it yet, however, and the Sousa yard was the shame of Magnolia Lane. Indeed, Peggy was surprised that Mrs. Johnson, with her magazine-ready flower beds, had issued invites to such sloppy yardkeepers.

"This looks familiar," Daniel remarked dryly.

"Ours is better," Peggy said with confidence as she rang the doorbell.

"Oh?"

"Of course," she smiled. "Because I get to live there with you."

He grinned at her, and that's how Mrs. Johnson found them when she answered the door: Peggy beaming and Daniel giving her the besotted smile she'd become so accustomed to since a certain enthusiastic kiss in his office all those months ago. "Mr. and Mrs. Sousa!" their hostess exclaimed. "See now, I can just tell you're newlyweds. My Roy smiled just like that at me the first six months we were married."

Shirley Johnson—"Just call me Shirley, we're all friends here"—was a pleasant-looking woman some ten years older than Peggy, with strawberry blonde hair and a dress that, although quite nice, was not quite as fashion-forward as Peggy's. Peggy didn't care in the slightest, of course, but she saw Shirley look at it, momentarily displeased, before plastering her smile back on. Of course Peggy could take no credit for the dress; it was, like so much of her wardrobe, Ana's doing. Also Ana's doing were the deviled eggs, which Shirley placed on the table with the other refreshments and exclaimed over the adorable little flowers made of radish slices atop each carefully piped dollop of deviled egg yolk. Peggy had planned on bringing pickled vegetables on those absurd cellophane-topped toothpicks—she'd seen that at a party before, and it seemed easy and festive enough—but when her dear friend heard about her plans, she insisted on making the eggs.

"After all, Peggy dear," she'd said, "how this party goes could shape the rest of your time in that neighborhood. Your hostess will gossip with her friends, and they will gossip with their friends . . . You must make a good first impression if you expect to avoid being shunned in Sycamore Hills."

It appeared that the Sousas were the last to arrive; Shirley had invited two other couples, so as to always have two bridge games going at once, and she quickly made introductions. The first couple, helping themselves to the food on the table, looked to be about Peggy and Daniel's age: John Boyd was a cheerful-looking blonde man built like a tank, who worked as the local high school's shop teacher; his wife Carolyn was brunette and seemed a bit ill at ease, although she gave Peggy a kind smile. According to Shirley, they lived just across the street.

The other couple, currently seated on the sofas with drinks and chatting with a man who turned out to be Mr. Johnson, were introduced as the Harrises. They were in their forties or fifties and immaculately put together; even with her carefully applied makeup and new dress, Peggy felt a bit like a shabbily dressed schoolgirl beside Jean Harris's perfect blonde coif and casually stunning ensemble. Ana had sewn Peggy's dress to resemble Christian Dior's New Look line coming out of Paris, but Peggy had a suspicion that Mrs. Harris's skirt and jacket were genuine Christian Dior.

Her husband was a judge, they soon learned. Both Harrises were polite but reserved, and Peggy had the unmistakable feeling that she and Daniel were being weighed and measured. Daniel was found a bit wanting, if Mrs. Harris's unimpressed expression was anything to go off, but Peggy, as it turned out, had an unexpected advantage.

"You're English, aren't you?" the woman asked with her first genuine smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Harris. London-born."

"I do so admire the English," she said. "Such art and architecture, such literature and history. And of course the accent is so terribly sophisticated isn't it? My own ancestors came from England on the Mayflower."

"Remarkable," said Peggy, mustering all her undercover experience to make it sound convincing.

The Harrises, they soon learned, lived in the strip of mansions that had been there for decades before the tract housing sprang up next door; they and the Johnsons knew each other from church. It quickly became clear that Mrs. Harris was something of a local queen bee; she appeared to know everyone in Sycamore Hills, despite the development being less than a year old, and from the way both she and Shirley discussed the matter, it was apparent that to be invited to one of her garden soirees was the greatest honor a housewife could hope for. "You shall have to come to my next one," Mrs. Harris said graciously to Peggy. No such invitation was issued to Carolyn Boyd.

It seemed an odd assemblage of people, but Peggy was a spy, a detective, a code breaker, and a very sensible person; it did not take long to puzzle out the interpersonal connections happening in that living room. Shirley, who hung on Mrs. Harris's every word, was clearly trying to ingratiate herself to the local society matron; her husband Roy, a balding man with the beginnings of a pot gut and very little interesting conversation to contribute, was a lawyer, and the secondary purpose of the evening was clearly to give him a chance to socialize and "schmooze," as Daniel would say, with Judge Harris. She'd invited the Sousas ostensibly to welcome them to the neighborhood but in actuality because Mrs. Harris had expressed interest in meeting the only English resident of the town, and inviting Peggy was a sure way to get Jean to say yes. And the Boyds had been invited to fill seats at the card tables.

"Now," said Shirley, when the introductions had been made and Peggy and Daniel had made all the obligatory comments on the loveliness of the house, "Mr. and Mrs. Sousa, you must fill your plates."

"Please," said Peggy politely, "Peggy and Daniel."

Shirley smiled. "Peggy and Daniel, then. Mrs. Harris has provided the lovely sandwiches, and Carolyn the meatballs. And of course, after having heard so much about it, Daniel, you must be eager to try to my famous cake."

"I am very eager to try your cake," Daniel assured her, and if Peggy hadn't known him better than she knew herself, she would have thought him sincere.

They made their way to the table and began filling plates, and soon found themselves in the company of Carolyn Boyd, who had come to try the eggs. "Your deviled eggs are just lovely, Mrs. Sousa," she said politely, and again Peggy had the impression that the lady was very ill at ease. Perhaps she, like Peggy, was not much fond of this kind of evening.

So Peggy leaned in close. "I'll tell you a secret if you promise to keep it under wraps," she said. "I didn't make these. I have a friend who is far more talented than I in both the culinary and the decorative arts, and she volunteered to make them. I would not even know how to go about making a radish garnish."

Carolyn laughed aloud at that, a surprised, happy sound. "I will be as silent as the grave," she reassured her.

"Good. And by the way, you must call me Peggy. And my husband is Daniel." She gestured at the man in question, who was reluctantly serving himself a piece of the reddish-orange cake.

At the mention of his name, he glanced up at the ladies and grimaced. "Am I a bad guest if I don't try the tomato soup cake?"

"I haven't dared yet," admitted Carolyn.

"Hush," Peggy laughed quietly; fortunately, their companions had begun talking again, and the sound of it covered the conversation at the table. "We certainly ate worse in the army, darling. Besides, I bet we find out it's actually delicious. Housewives have always been good at making do, and rationing made them experts; you should taste my grandmother's carrot pudding."

Daniel looked surprised. "Granny Lewin?" When she nodded, his face fell. "Now I'm a little less excited about visiting her next year."

She elbowed him discretely. "Don't be so quick to write off carrot pudding. You might be pleasantly surprised."

She served herself a piece, and then offered one to Carolyn, who reluctantly accepted. As it turned out, they oughtn't have been so suspicious; as Daniel, who tried it first, said with some surprise, "That's far better than a cake made of tomato soup has any right to be." When they returned to their seats, Shirley saw the bite taken from Daniel's cake and, fairly bursting with pride, asked him what he thought of it. "It's really good, Shirley," he said honestly. Across the room, Carolyn Boyd watched with interest, then tried a corner of her own tiny slice. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise, and Peggy had to smother a smile.

Before long, Shirley and Roy were setting up the two tables. The Sousas were to play the Johnsons first, while the Harrises played the Boyds. Peggy assumed that Shirley had carefully planned it so that the Johnsons would play the Harrises last, leaving that interaction the brightest memory in Jean Harris's mind when she left for the evening.

Roy Johnson dealt the cards, and Peggy, trying desperately to keep all the rules Rose had taught her straight in her mind, picked up her hand and examined it. She was not much of a card player, never had been, and she'd considered letting Daniel do all the heavy lifting tonight . . . but only for a moment. The truth was that she was too competitive not to at least try.

Her hand, as it turned out, was excellent—lots of high cards, lots of spades. So after Roy made his bid of one diamond, she took a deep breath and topped with one spade. The bidding continued, but after a few rounds, Daniel dropped out, clearly trusting Peggy to take the lead.

In the end she became the declarer, and Daniel obediently displayed his hand on the table. Not bad, not bad; between the two of them, they had a fighting chance to win. She smiled at her husband, smiled down at her sizable collection of kings and queens, and prepared to dominate.

Which made it all the more disappointing when Roy and Shirley won instead. Peggy looked down at the tricks piled neatly on the table, carefully keeping the scowl off her face to keep the Johnsons from thinking she was a poor loser. She hated to lose, had always hated to lose, even when she was just a little girl and would play hide and seek with Michael in the yard. She was very nearly ready to write bridge off, what a ridiculous game, what a waste of time, when she glanced up and saw Daniel barely concealing a smile.

"You're amused by that?" she asked.

He shrugged, his smile fully blooming. "It's just . . . you're so good at everything, so it's always just cracked me up that you're so bad at playing cards."

She looked at him a long moment, and then she laughed. "I suppose if I were good at absolutely everything, it wouldn't be fair to everyone else."

Daniel laughed too, and the Johnsons smiled as well, and Roy began gathering the cards for the next deal. Peggy watched her husband with a fond smile on her lips. After the day she had decided to break things off with Fred and join the SOE, her life had become deadly serious, and so it had stayed long after the war ended. It had taken months of effort from good friends—Angie and Howard and Rose and the Jarvises—to remind her that it was alright to smile again. But it was Daniel Sousa who'd made her believe that it was okay to be vulnerable, to be less than perfect, to open herself up to the glorious messiness that was real life outside the SSR's walls. Really, she sometimes felt her reasons for marrying him had been rather selfish: he'd made her austere life so much more colorful and fulfilling, and she couldn't imagine being without him. He'd laughed, the time she'd told him as much. "You do the same for me," he'd said. "And besides, we both nearly jumped into an interdimensional rift to save each other; I think your love for me is more unselfish than you realize."

The game was much more pleasant after that, for Peggy kept reminding herself that it was alright to lose; this evening was just for fun, with no real consequences riding on the outcome of the cards. They asked Roy and Shirley about their children—John and Betty, as it turned out—and were asked in turn about how they'd met. They gave their usual carefully constructed answer, composed of the truth stripped of all important information: they'd both worked for the phone company in New York City, but when he took a new job in Los Angeles they both found themselves missing each other, so when the phone company wanted to transfer her to California as well she jumped at the opportunity.

"And you work for your husband now, don't you?" Shirley asked. Her slightly stiff demeanor clearly indicated her opinion on women working outside the home, but she was clearly trying to be supportive.

"Peg is the best at what she does," said Daniel proudly. "The office couldn't get by without her."

Peggy smiled her gratitude at him. Daniel worried often that her decision to stay in Los Angeles to be with him had kept her from opportunities for advancement she might have had on the East Coast, and went out of his way to make sure she knew her work was appreciated. No amount of her reassurance assuaged him. But he really needn't have worried; she knew full well that the chances of a woman being promoted to chief were slim, given that they barely tolerated her being an agent. And she thought her position in Los Angeles was perfect: she was co-chief in all but name, but she got to do mostly fieldwork while Daniel was stuck in budget meetings and conference calls. Besides, it was such a hassle to fly from DC to Los Angeles that the head honchos very rarely interfered in their office.

When the first round of bridge was over, the couples left their tables to mingle and top off on refreshments, and the Sousas found themselves in conversation with the Boyds by default, for the Johnsons were both fawning over the Harrises. John Boyd turned out to be a very good-natured man, although not the brightest. After they had made a bit of small talk, Carolyn asked, "I couldn't help but notice that you mentioned being in the army. That was both of you?"

Daniel nodded. "Both stationed in Europe."

"We actually nearly crossed paths once," Peggy added, "although we didn't know it at the time. After Bastogne."

Carolyn's eyes widened, and she hesitated. "I heard from Judy Snelson that your maiden name is Carter. Are you . . ."

Peggy grimaced a little. She liked Carolyn, though, and didn't want to lie to her. And it would come out eventually anyway. "Yes, but if you say you're a fan of Betty Carver, I have to tell you that show got a great deal wrong."

"No worry there," laughed John. "Carolyn hates Betty Carver."

Peggy looked at Carolyn, her eyebrows raised in a surprised inquiry.

Carolyn colored a little. "I was a nurse in the Pacific," she explained. "And we did a lot more than cower in our camps and wait to be rescued. So I never much liked how they portrayed nurses in that show."

"Carolyn Boyd," Peggy pronounced, "you have just risen immeasurably in my esteem," and the woman in question broke into a smile.

"Peg here didn't do much cowering in camps either," Daniel said, snaking an arm around her waist, "so she's also not a big fan of Betty Carver."

"So you knew Captain America?" John asked.

"Yes, but for goodness sake, keep it a secret, or Shirley and Jean will never stop asking me about it."

John mimed zipping his lips shut, and Carolyn gave him an exasperated but fond smile.

The next game started then, and Peggy and Daniel sat down with the Harrises. This game was easier, because Peggy was becoming more accustomed to bridge, and also because Jean Harris was so willing and ready to be delighted and impressed by the Englishwoman that she kept the conversation very light, very friendly, and very comfortable.

"And was it this young man who brought you to America?" Mrs. Harris asked as her husband dealt.

"No, Daniel and I did not meet until I had been here for some time," said Peggy. "After the war I wanted to see more of the world, and I was offered a good position in New York City. But it was indeed Daniel who gave me the reason to stay." Across the table, Daniel smiled and bumped her foot with his.

The conversation continued in much this way; Mrs. Harris was an excellent conversationalist, and could be very gracious when she wanted to be; no doubt these traits were useful in her roles as both judge's wife and leader of the local ladies' social scene. Still, Peggy did not see herself being very eager to spend much time with the woman in the future, and she wondered how she might get out of the garden party invite.

After that game was finished, Peggy found herself again in the company of Carolyn Boyd. The Johnsons had recently purchased a new Chevrolet, and Roy offered to show it to Al Harris. Their wives both elected to come with them out to the carport, and at the last minute Daniel and John both got roped into going, Shirley having assumed that as men, they must be interested in cars. Daniel gave his wife a very long-suffering look as he was led out of the front door, and Peggy blew him a kiss.

"You two seem very happy together," Carolyn observed.

"Yes, I believe we are," smiled Peggy. "But then, you and John seem very happy together as well."

"John is wonderful," Carolyn agreed, but Peggy could sense something in her tone that said that she wasn't telling the whole story.

So she asked gently, "How did you two meet?"

"Actually, we met in the war as well," Carolyn answered. "John was a Marine in the Pacific, and was badly injured saving some of his fellow Marines in battle, in late '44. He ended up under my care for months; they couldn't move him right away. He was . . ." She trailed off, a smile playing over her lips. "Sweet and funny and charming. We became good friends in all that time, and when he finally got shipped back to the States to recuperate, we stayed in touch. I'd moved home to Ohio and become a nurse, but I was saving up money to go to college; I didn't want to be a nurse forever. And then I had to fly out here for a friend's wedding, and John had just finished recuperating and gone home to his folks in Los Angeles, so we decided to get together for dinner while I was still out here. I walked into that restaurant and I saw him standing there with a bouquet of roses and . . . all my plans for my future changed."

Into Peggy's mind came a flash of memory, of walking into the LA office and seeing Daniel standing there and feeling, as Carolyn had said, that "all her plans for her future had changed," and she smiled. "That's a very romantic story," she said. "And have you enjoyed living in California?"

To her surprise, Carolyn's smile fell, just a little—became a bit more forced.

"Or perhaps you haven't," Peggy said.

"No, I do like California," Carolyn insisted, embarrassed. "It's a beautiful state, and John's family have been so good to me. I'm just a little . . ."

Peggy hesitated, then placed one hand on her new friend's shoulder. "Carolyn," she said seriously, "you don't have to tell me anything. But if you would like to, now or in the future, I am always willing to be a listening ear."

Carolyn sighed. "I just feel so ungrateful for feeling this way, but I'm a little . . . bored." She hesitated. "I feel like I can tell you this, because you know what it's like to be married to someone who was injured in the war. John's injury, and the surgeries after to repair the damage . . . he can't have children. And I don't mind," she was quick to add. "Being married to him is worth it, no matter what hardships it comes with. But that means I do nothing but keep house for one man; there's no family to care for, and there's only so many times I can vacuum the living room. And the neighbors . . . well, in six months of living here, you're the first person I've met that I feel like I can really talk to. And after all I did and saw overseas, to know see only my four walls these days . . . I'm happy I married John, I really am. But sometimes I wonder if I could have done more with my life."

"Getting married doesn't mean your life is over," Peggy pointed out. "Have you considered getting a job?"

Carolyn shrugged. "I've considered it; John's all right with the idea, although his parents would be a little shocked. But my only skill is nursing, and I'm glad I did it in the war but it's not something I want to do long-term. I suppose I could go to secretary school and learn to type." She sounded unenthusiastic about the prospect, but after a moment her expression brightened. "You're a secretary, right? Where did you go to school?"

Before Peggy could think up a lie, the front door opened and the rest of the guests poured in. "You missed out, Peg," said Daniel, crossing to her. "It's quite a car." His voice sounded sincere, but when he was close and no one but her could see his face, he let his real feelings show in his expression, and Peggy stifled a laugh.

"Final game!" Shirley called, and the guests made their way to their chairs. Peggy and Daniel were to play John and Carolyn, which Peggy was glad of; those two were by far her favorite attendees. If nothing else came of this night, at least she'd made a new friend.

But that was not all the night had in store for them, as it turned out. As the game wound on, Peggy found her attention drawn to the large picture window on the side of the house. Through it she could see, outlined in the street light, the black form of the house next door. No lights were on; no car was in the driveway. And yet she was certain she had seen, outlined in the moonlight, figures walking through the backyard toward the porch door, all dressed in black, and looking around in a nervous and highly suspicious manner.

"Carolyn," Peggy said casually as John dealt, "who lives just there?"

"Next door?" Carolyn clarified. "The Taylors."

"You know them?"

"Yes, a little. They're out of town right now, I think; visiting her sick mother in Seattle."

"Hmm."

Daniel knew that "hmm"; he looked at his wife across the table, his eyebrows raised.

"Can we take a quick break?" Peggy asked the others brightly. "I could use a drink."

Daniel followed her to the refreshment table. "What is it?"

"Something is happening next door," she said quietly. "I'd say burglary, but . . ."

"But who breaks into a house at 9:00 in the evening?" Daniel finished for her. "This street will be like a graveyard if they just waited a few hours."

"So, incompetent burglars," Peggy concluded. "Or something else entirely."

Daniel nodded. "You want to tell the others or just call the—" He broke off, examining her. "You want to go over there and stop it, don't you?"

"We _are_ part of a law enforcement agency," she said reasonably, and kissed his cheek. "And we don't know if this is a crime at all; perhaps the Taylors returned home early and lost their key. I'll go scope it out, and signal you if you need to call the police."

"You aren't armed."

"Darling, it's me. Of course I'm armed."

Daniel hesitated, then gave her a fond smile. "All right, just don't ruin your dress. Ana would be very hurt."

Peggy returned quickly to the table where the Boyds waited. "I'm going to step out for a moment," she said. "I need some air."

Without waiting for a response she stepped outside and, taking a moment to get oriented, secreted herself in the row of bushes that separated the Johnsons' yard from the Taylors'. All was silence; she glanced back at the Johnsons' house, where Daniel stood in the window, and signaled for him to wait. This required further scrutiny.

Before she could move closer, however, she was joined in her hiding place in the bushes by a most unexpected companion: Carolyn Boyd.

"Ah, Carolyn," Peggy whispered, racking her brain for an excuse for her unusual behavior. "I dropped an earring—"

"Something is happening in that house, isn't it?" Carolyn interrupted, squatting down even farther and peering through the bushes at the Taylor home, dark and silent.

Best to play innocent. "What makes you say that?"

"Come on, Peggy," Carolyn whispered, sounding very reasonable. "You're looking out the window and suddenly you get all cagey and start asking questions about the Taylors, and then you and your husband get all chatty and secretive in the corner, and then you go outside and he stands watch by the window. And now here you are, spying on the house. You should be thanking me, by the way; Shirley wanted to come out and see if you were all right and I told her I'd go instead, because I promised to show you my tulips."

That was quick thinking, Peggy was forced to admit. "Thank you," she said reluctantly, then decided to tell some version of the truth. "I thought I saw movement at the Taylors' house, but I wanted to make sure I didn't imagine it before I called the police and woke up the whole neighborhood."

"That's a little dangerous, isn't it?" Carolyn asked doubtfully.

"Darling, I fought Nazis. Spying on a few cat burglars doesn't worry me."

In the silence that followed, both women heard a voice come from the backyard: "I can't get it open!"

Peggy was torn with indecision; the burglars might choose to come this direction and she could get a good view of them, or they might exit the yard a different way . . . she had to pursue them. She had a chance to stop a robbery, and she did not want to let the Taylors down, whoever they were. It was downright unneighborly to allow your neighbors to be burgled if you could stop it.

Also, she was quite bored of playing bridge.

"Stay here," she hissed at Carolyn, then slunk out of her hiding place in the bushes and moved toward the backyard, grateful that her dark blue dress would help her blend into the night. Peering around the corner of the house, she saw two figures in black standing on the back porch, trying to figure out how to unlock the back door. They were average-sized men, their heads covered by stocking masks, and based on how they were bickering, she thought her guess of "incompetent burglars" sounded just about right.

She was in the process of reaching down to remove the gun from her thigh holster when her cover was blown, through no fault of her own; a car backfired somewhere down the street, and both figures looked up toward the sound—putting Peggy right in their eye line.

"Run!" yelled one of the figures, and the two scrambled off the porch, heading for the back fence.

"Stop!" she yelled, not expecting it to work. It didn't, so Peggy pelted after them, cursing the way her heels sunk into the soft grass of the backyard, and managed to tackle the larger of the two figures. The other burglar seemed to panic and, giving up his goal of the back fence, instead ran back the way that Peggy had come; she hoped Carolyn had the good sense to stay hidden.

As she pulled her burglar's arms behind his back, she heard a thud and a grunt of pain from around the side of the house. Her mind awhirl with the possibilities, she forced her catch to his feet and led him in the direction of the noise, only to find a most unexpected sight: the second burglar on the ground, Carolyn kneeling on his back to keep him in place.

Peggy stared. "Did you—"

"I used to go to all my brother's wrestling matches," Carolyn said modestly, although her expression made it clear she was pretty pleased with herself. "You pick up a few things."

"Oh man," said the burglar Peggy was leading, "Mom is going to kill us."

Peggy and Carolyn looked at each other, surprised, and each pulled their catch's mask off. And what they saw made Carolyn get up off the burglar's back. "Ted and George Allen? What on earth are you boys doing breaking into the Taylors' house?"

The two boys—for so Peggy could now see they were, sheepish-looking boys not older than 18—backed up from their apprehenders, shifting uncomfortably. "You're not going to tell on us, are you, Mrs. Boyd?" said the one Peggy had tackled.

"I most certainly am," said Carolyn, indignant. "Breaking into a house is a crime, boys. But you tell me what's going on, and maybe I don't call the police, and maybe Coach Chapman doesn't take you two off the football team."

"But it doesn't count as a crime if we didn't actually get in the house, right?" said one of the boys hopefully.

Just then a light on the side of the Johnson house flipped on, and Daniel and John came outside; clearly Daniel had seen the whole thing through the window and was coming out to assist, and John had followed. "What's going on, Peg?" her husband asked.

"Just about to find out," said Peggy, nodding at the boys. "Spit it out."

The boys looked guiltily at each other, shifted from foot to foot, and finally the larger of the two boys blurted out, "I had to get my English essay back."

"You've got to give us more than that, George," said Carolyn.

"Mrs. Taylor is our English teacher, all right?" he said. "I know she takes her papers home to grade, so I wanted to get mine back before she looked at it and saw . . ." He sighed and looked down. "That I copied my paper from Susan Jones. I didn't think Mrs. Taylor would notice, but then Ted reminded me that last year she got Eddie Boone suspended for cheating." He looked up at them pleadingly. "If I get suspended, Coach'll kick me off the team, and then I'll never get to play college ball."

"Yeah, cry me a river," said Daniel, and Peggy fought back a smile. "All right, where do you two live?"

In the end, all four of the adults ended up walking the Allen boys down the block to their home, where Mr. and Mrs. Allen had no idea their sons had even left the house and promptly grounded them both until Christmas when they learned what had happened.

"Are you sure we were right to not call the police?" Carolyn asked as the Sousas and Boyds walked together back to the Johnsons'.

"I think so," said Peggy. "No sense getting them both a juvenile record when all they really did was skulk around the backyard and get stopped by a simple door lock."

"Besides," added Daniel, "I think we really put the fear of God into those two tonight. Between that and their parents watching them like hawks now, plus John here keeping an eye on them at school, I don't think they'll try anything else any time soon."

"Not to mention," added John, "George is going to be in a heap of trouble when Annie Taylor gets around to grading those essays."

It took a fair bit of lying to answer all of Shirley's questions about why half of her party had disappeared for twenty minutes, but in time they had convinced her and the Harrises that the Sousas were just fascinated by Carolyn Boyd's tulips, enough to spend twenty minutes looking at them in the dark.

Soon the party ended and everyone was gathering their things to go. Jean Harris cornered Peggy by the refreshment tables and reminded her that she would very much like to see her at her next garden party. Peggy hesitated, then smiled. "I would be happy to come, but I do get so shy at parties when I don't know anyone. May I bring along Mrs. Boyd?"

Mrs. Harris glanced back at the woman in question, then sighed a little. "Certainly you may. I will be sure to send her an invitation as well."

The Sousas bid goodbye to their hosts then; Peggy was certain their extended absence would have soured Shirley Johnson on them, but she was in for a surprise. "It was nice to have you," said their hostess. "We're having a barbecue for the neighbors next month, will you come?"

Daniel and Peggy glanced at each other, then smiled. "If you like," said Daniel. "Thank you so much for including us."

"Looks like we're more popular with the neighbors than we thought," Peggy murmured to her husband as they headed for the door.

"We will be the toast of Magnolia Lane," he grinned in return.

Outside the house, they found themselves in the company of the Boyds, and Peggy and Daniel slowly meandered across the street with their new acquaintances. Daniel and John had fallen into a discussion about places they'd served in the war, and Peggy was glad of the chance to talk privately to Carolyn; she had something very particular to say to her.

"Quite the night!" Carolyn exclaimed, before Peggy could begin the speech she'd been planning the last few minutes. "That was far more excitement than I've ever had at one of Mrs. Johnson's parties."

"Indeed," Peggy laughed, "if I had known bridge nights could get so physical, I would have worn more comfortable shoes."

Carolyn laughed in return, then paused, then asked a bit shyly, "Do you think . . . you two might ever want to come over for dinner or cards or something? You're the first person in the neighborhood I've really hit it off with, and I think John's talked more to your Daniel than anyone else in the whole six months we've lived here."

Peggy smiled, quite pleased. "I feel the same way," said she. "And we'd be delighted to come over. It would be . . . nice to have friends in the neighborhood."

Carolyn smiled too, and Peggy thought this a good moment to broach the other topic she wanted to discuss. "You did an excellent job taking that young man down," she observed. Nearby, Daniel and John were comparing shrapnel scars.

Carolyn responded with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "Tackling a sixteen-year-old boy, you mean? Definitely one of my prouder moments."

"All the same," said Peggy, "to bring subdue him without hurting him, with no training? Your instincts are good." She hesitated. "Out of curiosity, are you any good with a gun?"

Carolyn blinked in surprise. "I've . . . been hunting a few times with my dad. I think I was pretty good at it."

Peggy nodded. She would have gone ahead even if Carolyn had never used a gun, but this did make things easier. "Well, Carolyn, if you really feel that nursing is not for you, I have a job opportunity that might interest you." She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a business card, presenting it to her companion with a flourish.

"Auerbach Theatrical Agency," read Carolyn aloud. "Margaret Auerbach, Assistant to the CEO." She looked up at Peggy. "My first response is to say that I thought you worked in paper, but my second response is to say that I don't think you work in paper  _or_ in theater."

"And deductions like that are precisely why I think you'd be a good fit for us," said Peggy. "That and the fact that you have a military background and aren't afraid of a tussle." She shot a smile over at Daniel, who must have felt her gaze because he looked up and returned the smile. "I've been saying for months we need to hire more women; you seem like a good place to start."

"You haven't explained anything," Carolyn pointed out.

"And I can't, not here. Neither can you; when you talk about this to John tonight, please be as vague as possible, at least until we've had a chance to talk more. I think you're clever enough to know how to keep a cover. And if you think you're interested, be at the address on the card tomorrow morning at 10. Tell the woman at the front desk your name and that Peggy Carter sent you."

"Sent me for what?" Carolyn's words and tone were confused and guarded, but her expression showed the truth: she was intrigued.

"I'll explain tomorrow, if you come," Peggy promised. She closed up her handbag and prepared to leave. "Even if you choose not to, you and I will still be friends," she promised. "I can't lose my only friend in the neighborhood so soon after we've met. But I hope you will come. You wonder if you should have done more with your life; well, this, Carolyn, is 'more,' dropping right into your lap."

Carolyn looked at her, down at the card, and up at Peggy again. And then a slow smile spread across her face. "I'll be there," she promised.

"Good," Peggy smiled. "I'll be expecting you."

And, bidding the Boyds goodbye, Peggy and Daniel walked hand in hand down the darkened sidewalks of Magnolia Lane.

"Peggy," said Daniel when they were out of earshot of the Boyds, "did you just offer Carolyn a job with the SSR?"

"I've been telling you we need to hire more women," she replied. "I think Carolyn will do nicely."

Daniel laughed and shook his head. "Well, I think you may be right, based on what I've seen of her, and either way I've learned to trust your instincts."

Peggy ducked her head and smiled, grateful that the dark night covered the blush on her cheeks. One of the things she loved best about Daniel was one of the things that Fred had never been able to give her: her husband trusted her to think for herself and respected her opinions. "Daniel Antonio Sousa," she said, squeezing his hand gently, "have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Not for a few hours," he shrugged, clearly fighting back a grin. "I could stand to hear it again."

"Then, husband of mine, I love you to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach."

"You stole that from a poem."

"It's called 'quoting,' dearest," she retorted. "It makes me sound more intellectual. You should try it sometime."

Daniel laughed and, stopping suddenly, used the hand that currently held hers to pull her in close. "You know, it doesn't matter now if I mess up your lipstick."

"This would be much more romantic if I weren't holding a half-eaten tray of deviled eggs."

He kissed her anyway, right there where all the neighbors could see, and Peggy couldn't even be bothered to care if they were shocking anyone. Besides, if anyone was spying on passersby out their windows at this time of night, they probably deserved all the shocking they got.

"The Johnsons have invited us to a barbecue," Peggy said when they were once again walking toward home. "And Carolyn would like us to come over for dinner sometime."

"We're so popular these days," Daniel laughed. "You sure you want to socialize with a co-worker? If she does take the job?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I've made it work with you, haven't I? This hasn't interfered our working relationship." She squeezed his hand.

"All right," said Daniel as they reached number 793, "dinner with the Boyds it is."

They stood a moment, looking at the house, and Peggy tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, our yard really does look pathetic."

"Let's get one of the Allen boys to take care of it," Daniel suggested with an impish grin. "I think they're going to have a lot of free time on their hands between now and Christmas."

Peggy laughed and released his hand in favor of slipping her arm around his waist. And as they stood there looking at their house— _their house_ , something she wouldn't have thought possible at one point—and as Peggy imagined yard care and neighborhood barbecues and dinner with the Boyds and their whole future laying out before them, she found herself smiling, and leaned over to kiss Daniel's cheek. "You know," she said, "I rather think I'm going to like life on Magnolia Lane."

. . . . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes, because after all these months of publishing my other Peggysous fic, notes have now become a habit with me:
> 
> Tomato soup cake: An honest-to-goodness recipe popular from the 1940s to 1970s; it reportedly produces a very moist spice cake in which you cannot tell tomato soup has been used. According to the Campbell's soup company, it first appeared in a cookbook in the late 1920's/early 1930's, and they first printed it on a soup can in 1940. While it was not invented in response to rationing, several people who posted about it online remembered their mothers making it during the war, because everything was being rationed then. I have every intention of making this for my loved ones and not telling them what's in it until they've already eaten some.
> 
> Tract housing: After the war, as the country recovered from that devastation and from years of economic depression, demand for housing increased, leading to the creation of tract housing, which is planned communities featuring rows of identical or nearly-identical houses. The first major tract housing development to be completed was Levittown, New York, but the most famous was Lakewood in Los Angeles, which served as inspiration for Sycamore Hills (although Lakewood wasn't completed until 1953, four years after the date of this story). If you like watching cheesy 1950s informational films (and who doesn't, amirite), check out this gem and tell me it doesn't get you excited about the modern marvel of tract housing: youtu.be/zfGG1IbwpZg. Lakewood is also home of the world's first Denny's, so fans of late-night hash browns and pie, that should excite you.
> 
> Christian Dior's New Look: French fashion designer Christian Dior launched his first collection in 1947, which would come to be called the New Look. The look was a deliberate move away from the utilitarianism and rationing of the war period, toward a look that was very feminine and designed to let women embrace their curves: the rounded shoulders, the slender waist, the full skirt. When you picture a dress from the 1950s, you're picturing the influence of the New Look. Google it; the underwear required to achieve those waistlines must have been killer, but man, some of those dresses are gorgeous.
> 
> Rationing: Shortages caused by war led to the need for rationing, both of food items and of items necessary to war effort, such as oil, rubber, and nylon. Citizens were issued ration books that allowed them a certain number of stamps each month that they could use to buy the rationed items. This required people to get very creative about making do with less; for example, to deal with the shortage of nylons, ladies would put makeup on their legs to create the illusion that they were wearing stockings. And there were a plethora of recipe books created, giving examples of meals you could make with your rationed food supplies; my favorite I've seen is for a British steamed pudding that is sweetened and filled out with shredded carrot (the inspiration for Granny Lewin's specialty). Rationing was in place in the USA from 1941 to 1946, but in the UK it lasted all the way until 1954 for certain items.


End file.
